


For One Night and The Rest of Them

by fruitstripegum



Series: For One Night and the Rest of Them [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Weddings, drunk!Stiles, engagements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:26:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitstripegum/pseuds/fruitstripegum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora pops the question to Lydia before Derek does to Stiles. Stiles gets a little self-doubty and wonders if Derek doesn't want to marry him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For One Night and The Rest of Them

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles' hair:  
> http://content.latest-hairstyles.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/dark-warm-brown-hair-color-for-men.jpg
> 
> Lydia's Engagement ring:  
> http://www.miadonnadiamondblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/19/celebrity-engagement-rings-oscars/Celebrity-Engagement-Rings-Zoe-Saldana.jpg
> 
> Stiles' Engagement ring:  
> http://www.gemvara.com/jewelry/snake-eyes-band-6mm-wide/platinum-ring-with-black-diamond-and-diamond/9l8qq

When Lydia calls, her voice almost a full octave above normal in her excitement, Stiles is beside himself with delight for his friend’s good news.

 

“Cora just asked me to marry her!” she squeals. “And I said ‘yes!’”

 

“Of course you did!” Stiles yells at her through the phone. “Oh my _god_ , I’m so happy for you, Lyds!”

 

“You better be happy, you’re helping me plan this whole shindig out!”

 

“As long as I get to stand up and support you when you say, ‘I do,’” he bargained.

 

“Was that ever going to be a question you had to ask?” she snarks. “Of course you’re going to be.”

 

“What’s the correct term?” Stiles wonders aloud. “Would I be considered a bridesman? Man of honor?”

 

“Sorry, honey, ‘-of honor’ duties go to my sister, but you and Allison will be in my bridal party and you can call yourself whatever you’d like.”

 

“I’ll think on that, then.”

 

They hang up a few minutes later after they set up a time to meet for bunch the following morning to begin planning. Lydia’s had a running list of guests to invite since high school; it’s evolved as her life has moved on, striking off a few people through the years, but mostly growing as she’s made new friends. Stiles knows she and Cora both will be wearing dresses, that they want a Spring wedding, which gives them nine months to plan, and that Lydia had already started working on a color palette and would be bringing a board with her to brunch to get Stiles’ and Allison’s opinions. She’s been dressing them for years now, whatever she decides on will be better than anything the two of them can come up with on their own.

 

More than two years have passed since the first time he laid eyes on Derek at the club. He’d been dancing in the cage like any other night, having fun but wrapped up in his own bubble and not paying much attention to anyone else when he’d looked down for a second and caught Derek staring. He’d seen Danny pull him away a moment later and knew that he would text him later to see who the hottie was. Fate was on his side that night, however, when Danny tracked him down right after he’d wrapped up his shift and showered and changed in the employee locker room. Danny had led him to Derek and the rest, as they say, is history.

 

He’s surfing Pinterest for interesting bouquets when he hears the lock clicking in the loft’s large metal door. Seconds later, Derek slides the door open and walks into the foyer. Stiles still gets the same feeling of awe he felt that first time every time his boyfriend comes into his sights. Derek walks behind where Stiles is sitting on the couch, a few bags of groceries in his hands. He stops to peer at Stiles’ screen over his shoulder.

 

“You know Lydia’s going to have the whole operation planned out in twenty-four hours max, right?” He asks.

 

“Honestly, I think she’s already completed planning, but I want to get to brunch with some suggestions so she knows her ideas are the best,” Stiles agrees. “When did Cora tell you?”

 

“I helped her pick out a ring a few weeks ago,” he says casually.

 

“You’ve known she was going to pop the question for _weeks_ and you didn’t tell me?” Stiles all but yells. “ _Why_ didn’t you tell me??”

 

“Because you can’t keep a secret to save your life, handsome.” Derek lessens the sting of that harsh truth with a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Cora wanted it to be a surprise.”

 

“Jerk,” Stiles mumbles. He stands to help Derek with the groceries, leaving out a few items so that he can start on dinner.

 

Later that night, after a great meal and even better after-dinner sex, Stiles lays in bed. Derek’s fallen asleep hours ago, but Stiles’ mind is still wide-awake. He lays on his back, Derek cuddled up under his arm and breathing steadily as a still-forming thought worms its way through his too-active mind, making his pulse quicken and the bitter taste of fear start to gather on his tongue.

 

At half past five, Stiles gives up on sleeping and smoothly disentangles himself from Derek’s embrace. He starts a pot of coffee brewing before he ascends the spiral staircase, turning on the shower taps to let the room steam up as he goes through his morning routine. He steps under the hot spray of water after his teeth are brushed, letting the scalding flow loosen the muscles that tensed overnight as he lathers his hair with shampoo, then conditioner before applying soap to his loofa, exfoliating his skin as he scrubs, the scent of orange blossoms and honey filling his nose. He looks down into the loft from the long bathroom window, wrapping a fist around his morning wood and pumping himself to completion to the sight of Derek’s bare ass uncovered on the bed, the man in question still firmly in dreamland.

 

Stiles heads back down to the main floor of the loft a few minutes later, his slate colored towel tucked low around his hips. He fixes his cup of coffee – one of many he’ll have today – then pulls his laptop to the island counter, sitting on a metal stool to check his e-mails and work on one of his newest assignments: a series of graphics and an updated logo for a local band’s first nationwide tour. They’re headlining for a bigger name, but Stiles has heard the band’s EP and knows they have a great sound. He’d worked hard to convince his boss that the small project was worth the company’s time and would pay off down the road when the band started headlining their own tours.

 

After he finishes his work (and second cup of coffee), Stiles starts mixing batter for pancakes. He’s finishing up the last batch and pulling sizzling bacon out of a pan when Derek wakes. He greets Stiles, naked as the day he was born, with a searing kiss before he steals a slice and heads to the powder room to pee.

 

They sit and chat as they eat breakfast. Well, Derek eats breakfast. Stiles is picking at his food more often than he consumes it, nursing his third cup of coffee. If Derek thinks anything of Stiles’ lack of appetite, he doesn’t mention it, and Stiles stands to get dressed for brunch soon afterward. He pulls on a deep blue Henley – one of Derek’s truth be told, but their clothes turned from individual ownership to group collective long ago – and a pair of black skinny jeans. He’s lacing up black Chucks when he hears the taps come back on upstairs. He leaves a note for Derek telling him he’s gone to brunch before he grabs his keys and exits the loft.

 

Stiles arrives for brunch at the country club twenty minutes early, even after he’s spent a quarter tank of gas driving around Beacon County. If his father knew he’d been driving around to clear his head, only half paying attention to the road, he’d have his head. Luckily, he’d tuned back into what he was doing one street before the turn off for the country club and had made the slow drive down the winding, tree covered road to the parking lot in one piece.

 

He asks the maître-d’ for a table for four on the balcony patio and casts his eyes out to the golf course as groups of golfers walk and hit and walk some more. He feels out of place with his teal-tipped hair and anti-polo-and-khakis style, but Lydia’s family has been a member of the club of more than forty years – the Martin name carries weight here – so the host seats him with minimal grumbling at a table on the far side of the patio. The waiter brings him a cup of coffee – his fourth of the day, not that he’s counting – and Stiles angles his body to look out over the golf course and soak up the mid-morning sun.

 

“You look like shit,” Lydia informs him as she and Allison approach the table fifteen minutes later.

 

“Well good morning to you, too,” Stiles replies, a small, tired smile on his face as he peeks over at the newcomers with one eye. He stands, hugging both women in turn. The waiter returns quickly, taking down their drink orders – Lydia orders a round of mimosas for the table – and refreshes Stiles’ coffee.

 

“So what’s got you looking like you did that last semester of college when you decided taking 21 hours was better than taking two summer courses and graduating in August instead of May?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep last night, is all,” Stiles mumbles.

 

They chat for a little bit as they decide on brunch – they’re all doing the buffet, so they go stand to fill plates with crepes, muffins, yogurt, and fruit. Allison catches them up on her latest series.

 

“It’s just nice to know that my work is getting noticed, you know?” She asks. “When I first got into photography and realized I wanted to do it professionally, I was worried I was going to be stuck doing Sears-style family portraits or—“ she shudders “school picture days. A regional magazine paying me to do a spread for their fall issue feels like a big deal.”

 

“It _is_ a big deal, Ally,” Lydia swings her hip against Allison’s lightly to emphasize her point.

 

“Do you have any particular guidelines you have to meet in terms of content?” Stiles wonders.

 

“Not really,” she admits. “They want something that’s going to showcase life in Northern California. I could do a series of landscapes, or character shots, it doesn’t really matter as long as there’s a story behind it.”

 

“That sounds great,” Stiles grins.

 

“Yes and no! It’s like all of the creative writing exercises we ever had to do in school: if it’s too open ended, I tend to lose myself in coming up with the perfect thing. I wish I had a little more direction.”

 

They sit back down at their table and begin to eat. The trio is quiet for a few minutes, nibbling at their food and sipping mimosas before Lydia breaks the silence.

 

“Stiles,” she whines, “you haven’t even asked to see my ring yet!”

 

“I’m sorry Lydia!” He frets, slamming his fist down on the table dramatically. “I demand you show it to me right this very instant.”

 

Lydia offers her left hand to him to take, the engagement ring prominent on her fourth finger. Cora had pinpointed Lydia’s style perfectly: the ring was a pear-cut emerald set in platinum. Two slightly smaller diamonds flanked the emerald on either side. The emerald is the exact color of Lydia’s eyes and is big enough that it covers a good portion of real estate on Lydia’s finger.

 

“Cora must have spent forever looking for a ring like this,” Stiles muses.

 

“Actually, it was her grandmothers,” Lydia informs him.

 

“Ooh, vintage!”

 

Stiles and Allison both take a moment to admire the ring. Stiles has to admit, it looks perfect on her finger. He’s happy for her, but the thought that kept him up all night has snuck just a little bit closer to the surface of his mind and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Well,” Lydia draws Stiles attention back to the table. “Let’s get down to business.”

 

“Lydia,” Stiles groans, “you’re a professional event planner – _and_ I know you’ve been planning out your wedding since at least middle school. What could you possibly need to decide on?

 

“Well, for starters, before Cora and I started dating I’d always thought I’d be walking down the aisle to meet my groom at the altar. I don’t know if one of us will be waiting and another walking, or if one will walk first and then the other – and who should go first?”

 

“I think it’d be nice for you both to walk down the aisle together, hand in hand,” Allison suggests.

 

“That’s perfect, Ally,” Lydia praises. “That also solves the problem of how Derek would be in her bridal party _and_ give her away.”

 

“I think he did that the night we introduced you two,” Stiles chuckles.

 

Lydia smiles demurely. “Why, Stiles, I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.”

 

“If I recall correctly, you two were giving each other bedroom eyes all fucking night through dinner and then got extremely suggestive during Cards Against Humanity.”

 

“And then Derek practically shoved her in my arms as I was preparing to leave, reminding Cora about how stiff and uncomfortable your couch was and that she’d probably wake up with a crick in her neck if she slept on it,” Lydia finished, remembering. “I was a goner after that.”

 

“Okay, so with the question of how you two get to the altar out of the way, what’s next on the agenda?” Stiles asks.

 

“Honestly, that’s pretty much it.” She pulls out a small piece of foam board from her oversized bag along with a couple of paint and fabric swatches. “We’re doing Orchid hues, deep and light purples, as our main colors. Grey suits for the guys with purple ties and pocket squares, deep purple dresses for Ally, Laura, and my sister. We already have a venue picked out, we just need to wait until they open on Monday to put a deposit down and reserve the date, and the invite lists are almost complete.”

 

“I could design something for save the dates and the invitations,” Stiles suggests.

 

Lydia kisses him on the cheek. “That would be amazing!”

 

They continue snacking on fruit and the waiter comes around for another round of mimosas. The conversation is light and fun, filled with the excitement of Lydia’s pending nuptials when the terrible thought that had been tunneling through Stiles’ mind since Lydia had called him last night comes to the surface. Lydia doesn’t even realize she’s hit on his insecurity when she says offhand, “Honestly, Stiles, I thought I was going to be helping you plan _your_ wedding before you’d be helping me with mine!”

 

Stiles laughs if off, telling her it’s a blessing in disguise because he’d probably end up being a groomzilla, and when they wrap up brunch a little while later with a plan to go dress shopping next weekend, Stiles is relieved he’s made it through the meal without tearing up once. As it is, he feels like a heavy weight has settled on his chest. He stops by the grocery store on his way home to gather ingredients for a Stilinski family recipe handed down for generations. Stiles renames them based on his mood and today, as he pre-heats the oven and begins mixing together the ingredients he decides that they will be called ‘depression brownies.’

 

*^*^*^*^*

 

Derek, who had spent the morning and better part of the afternoon with Cora, Laura, and Talia at the bridal salon, returns to the loft as the sun is setting. He’d tried calling Stiles to let him know he was running later than he’d thought, but got his voicemail – Cora had tried on thirteen dresses before she’d found ‘the one,’ and then she’d been so famished she’d insisted on going out to eat at the family-style Italian restaurant that was consistently delicious but always took too long. You could tack on an extra forty minutes to any plans that involved _La Bella Notte_.

 

As he walks down the hallway to the loft door, he can hear the sound of the TV, loud but muffled through the wall, and when he opens the door, the scene he steps into confuses him. The loft is completely dark, save for the flickering light of the flat screen. The whole place smells like chocolate. He looks around the open space and thinks Stiles has gone out and left the TV on for a second before he sees a hand poke out from the pile of blankets on the couch to grab at the bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table. He walks slowly to the couch, aware something is wrong but not able to figure out what it is.

 

“Stiles,” he begins quietly before trying again, loud enough to be heard over the too-loud television. “Stiles, why are you watching _27 Dresses_?” he notices his boyfriend has put a pretty solid dent in the previously unopened bottle of Jack and tacks on, “and drinking like a fish?”

 

Stiles almost jumps out of his skin. Derek assumes he hadn’t heard him enter the loft – and how could he have done with Katherine Heigl’s voice booming out of the sound system like it was? Stiles turns around, the blanket falling from his head and shoulders as he does, to stare at Derek with puffy, bloodshot eyes. Derek runs around the couch immediately, dropping to his knees beside Stiles as he reaches out to cradle his face in his hands.

 

“Stiles! What happened?” he demands.

 

“I don’t want to be Jane,” Stiles mumbles before he shoves a piece of brownie into his mouth.

 

“What?” Derek asks, dumbfounded.

 

“ _We_ introduced Cora and Lydia.” Stiles hiccups. “We should be getting married before them, but nooooo…” he trails off.

 

“Stiles, what happened today at brunch?”

 

“Lydia’s got the perfect ring, and the perfect,” _hiccup_ , “inspurr- inspirational board, and the perfect colors. I don’t want to be like Jane: always the bridesmaid.”

 

 _And never the bride (or groom)_ , Derek finishes in his head; he could kick himself. Derek settles Stiles back against the couch before he turns to the kitchen for a glass of water, taking the bottle of Jack as he goes. He returns to Stiles and holds the glass out to his boyfriend as he demands, “drink.”

 

Stiles nurses the glass of water. It takes a few minutes for him to finish it; Derek sits patiently by his side while he does. When he’s emptied the glass, Derek takes it and sets it down on the coffee table before he turns to Stiles again.

 

“Stiles, do you remember a few months ago when I got us reservations at that Sushi place in Sacramento?” he asks. “We were going to spend the weekend there?”

 

Stiles mumbles his assent.

 

“And then you got a call about all hands on deck because the server at your office had crashed and all of the work from the last week or so was lost so we had to cancel the trip?” Derek takes a deep breath and continues.

 

“What about two months ago when I asked if you wanted to go to Napa for a few days but then Scott came down with that virus and Allison couldn’t take care of him because they’d just brought Topher home and they couldn’t expose the baby to the germs so we spent those days taking care of Scott while Allison and Topher stayed with her parents?

 

“Last month, I told you we were going to San Francisco but then my office called me in when Jackson quit to take that job in London and I had to take over most of his accounts,” Derek continues. “We weren’t really going to go to San Francisco. I’d rented a boat and we were going to spend the weekend sailing up the coast.”

 

Stiles doesn’t look like he’s sobered much during Derek’s monolog, but his eyes have stayed on Derek’s, even if they are a little glassy. Derek stands up and all but runs over to his dresser, pulling open the third drawer and fishing around for something before he returns so Stiles.

 

“What I’m trying to say,” Derek begins again, “is that I’ve been trying to plan out the perfect weekend. I wanted us to be able to get away from everything for a few days and just be _together_ , but real life has been getting in the way. I was going to try again a few weeks ago, but then Cora called and said he wanted to ask Lydia to marry her and I didn’t want to steal her thunder by proposing so quickly afterwards.”

 

Stiles’ eyes break from his to look down at Derek’s hand. A few tears spill over as he sees the small, velvet box atop his palm. Derek opens the lid to reveal a thick, brushed titanium band. Two tiny diamonds sit like snake eyes in the band, one black and one white. Stile’s tears are flowing freely now as he looks back up at Derek, his mouth parted slightly.

 

“You want to marry me?” he asks, uncertain. “You _have wanted_ to marry me?”

 

“Yes!” Derek exclaims. “I’ve wanted to marry you since we first started dating! I have been actively looking for a ring for the better part of a year! I found a jeweler, had a ring made – do you know how difficult it was to figure out your ring size without you realizing something was up? – and have had this ring burning a hole in my pocket and my drawer for _six months_ , Stiles. I was half convinced you’d found it already and wanted to keep up the act so I wouldn’t know you weren’t surprised when I finally got things right to ask!”

 

“How was I supposed to know?” Stiles’ arms flail in emphasis, almost knocking the pan of brownies from his lap – how had Derek not noticed that there was an entire _pan_ of brownies on Stiles’ lap? “You never talk about it! I wasn’t even sure you ever wanted to get married, not that I would have said no to being your forever boyfriend or life partner or whatever we decided to call it. You’ve got the best poker face in the world!”

 

“Well, to avoid any further misunderstanding, here goes: Stiles, I have loved you almost from the moment we met. I felt that first night that you fit perfectly with me, like you were a piece of me I didn’t even know was missing until you filled it. You are my partner in every sense of the word – you make me a better person and I think every waking moment about how lucky I am to have you. I can’t wait to tie our lives together in marriage and I don’t care if we have a huge circus of a wedding or we run down to the courthouse tomorrow; it doesn’t matter, so long as I get to call you mine for the rest of eternity. Will you do me the favor of being my husband?”

 

Stiles kisses him full on the mouth, his lips searing hot against Derek’s. The kiss quickly turns heated and Derek has to pull away for breath after a while. “Do I take that as a yes?”

 

“Yes!” Stiles cries happily.

 

They kiss for a while longer, embracing lovingly. Derek guides Stiles to bed and undresses him before he tucks him in. He sets another glass of water and some Advil on Stiles’ bedside table before he joins him in bed and kisses an already passed out Stiles on the temple, admiring the look of the ring on Stiles’ finger before he too goes to sleep.

 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 

When Derek wakes the following morning, Stiles’ side of the bed is empty and the loft is pristinely clean. He can see a few paper bags with the logo of the local donut shop on them and can hear the sound of the shower running upstairs. He pulls back the sheets, stepping out of bed to shuffle his way up the stairs to the master bathroom. He opens the door, letting out a puff of steam before he closes it behind him.

 

Stiles is standing with his back to the bathroom door, but the small shiver Derek sees lets him know that Stiles knows he’s no longer alone. Derek walks up behind him, reaching out touch his shoulder softly before pressing a kiss to the base of his neck. Stiles lifts his left hand up, admiring the engagement band.

 

“Were you serious last night when you said you didn’t care if we had a big wedding or eloped?” he asks, moaning slightly as Derek continues sucking kisses into his neck and shoulders.

 

“As a heart attack,” Derek affirms.

 

“Then that’s what I want to do,” Stiles says. “Today.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“That’s it?” Stiles turns around. His eyes are bright, cut amber and lit from within. “Lydia’s planning her shit _eight months_ out to make sure every little detail is perfect!”

 

“I already know that whatever we do is going to be perfect because you will be there and we will be married.”

 

“Married,” Stiles whispers.

 

“Bound in matrimony by the State of California in the eyes of God and man,” Derek smiles at his fiancé.

 

“What will we wear?” Stiles wonders, his hand drifting down to Derek’s morning erection.

 

“We have those suits we got tailored for John and Melissa’s wedding last year,” Derek groans the last bit as Stiles’ knuckles rub along the underside of his length.

 

“Mmmm,” Stiles agrees. “And I could call Ally to see if she’s available to take pictures.”

 

“After—“ Derek moans again as Stiles wraps his hand firmly around his base. “After we could go to dinner and then to the Jungle to celebrate.”

 

Stiles’ hand stills as he asks, “Why the Jungle?”

 

“That’s where it all began.”

 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 

After multiple orgasms, Derek and Stiles have managed to call their respective loved ones and tell them the plan: they have an appointment with the Justice of the Peace at the Beacon Hills City Hall at four-thirty. Derek has called both their offices and was, to Stiles’ immense surprise, able to get them both out of work for the entire week. They’ve located their suits in the back of their closet and they are, _thankfully_ , clean and pressed. Allison is bringing her Nikon and squealed when Stiles asked her. “This will be my spread for the magazine!” Stiles couldn’t say no to that even if he wanted to. (He didn’t.)

 

They’re almost out the door when Stiles stops in his tracks.

 

“Derek, we need to get you a ring!” he laments.

 

“Oh,” Derek breathes, patting the pocket of his suit jacket absently. “Actually, I had one made to match yours in my size.”

 

Stiles can see the blush creeping up his cheeks as he admits this.

 

“So you’ve had not one but _two_ wedding rings in this loft for _months_?!” he asks.

 

Derek nods, a small smile on his face. Stiles pulls him into a kiss that promises so much more. Derek pulls back after a few minutes telling Stiles they’ll be late if they don’t leave _right now_.

 

Lydia meets them at the door to the Justice of the Peace’s room with two matching boutonnieres made up of two red and white tea roses each. Derek doesn’t know how she got them made so quickly, but he also knows better than to ask. Lydia is an event-planning magician.

 

They walk into the double doors of the JP’s room to see that Lydia’s magic has extended inside. There are red ribbons tied along two columns of chairs, creating an aisle, and a small arbor has been brought in and is decorated in more red ribbon and roses. Stiles’ jaw is hanging open in awe.

 

“Lydia,” he breathes.

 

“What? I already have _my_ wedding planned,” she says dismissively. “It took no time at all to pull this together.”

 

The JP is already stationed at the arbor. Lydia takes her place among the assembled group of friends and family. Talia, Cora and Lydia, Laura, Scott, Allison and baby Topher, the Sheriff and Melissa, Danny and Ethan. All of the people that matter are here in this room to witness Stiles and Derek pledge their lives to each other.

 

The ceremony is short, and after the grooms kiss, they sign some paperwork and pay the fee to obtain their marriage license. Everyone cheers when they are handed the sealed document.

 

“It’s official!” Stiles waves the license over his head for all to see. Derek peppers kisses on his cheek.

 

When they get back outside, Lydia has yet another surprise for them: a stretch limousine that takes them to the country club. Lydia has convinced the chef to serve an upscale version of all of Stiles’ and Derek’s favorite foods: macaroni and cheese with truffles, rolls of sushi, pulled pork sliders, and more. The combination sounds like it wouldn’t work, but it does. She’s also managed to wrangle a sound system and has a playlist queued up with songs perfect for a wedding reception.

 

After dinner, Derek and Stiles take to the small dance floor for their first dance, Bright Eyes “First Day of My Life” playing to them as they rotate around the floor. They stay with the group, dancing and laughing for hours. The chef brings out a small, two-tiered cake and they cut it and lovingly shove pieces into each other’s faces. Toasts are made, and before they know it, it’s half past ten and the parents are calling it a night. Melissa takes Topher so Allison and Scott can both join the rest of the twenty-somethings at the Jungle, where they dance and drink some more. They get a few round of shots for free when someone lets it slip that the two newlyweds met there.

 

The following morning, Derek surprises a happily hungover Stiles with tickets to Jamaica. Their flight leaves in three hours and they’re spending the rest of the week on a resort island in a bungalow on the beach.

 

Stiles smiles, then laughs, as he thinks about how their marriage is a mirror of their dating life: quick and bright and absolutely perfect, and he can’t wait for a lifetime full of adventures with Derek Hale, his husband.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I think this finishes up this 'verse for me... As always comments and kudos are my sustenance! Let me known what you think :)


End file.
